


Their Clothes

by orphan_account



Series: Their/There/They're [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Slight Unrequited Enjolras/Joly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-21 22:25:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6060258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four seasons it didn't fit and one it did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Winter

**Author's Note:**

> One chapter will be posted each week! Most of this is already written.

  


Enjolras meticulously studied his hands, looking for the invisible splinter that had clung to his skin for ages now. Joly, nipping up Enjolras' chin with his thumb, re-fastened the rosette on Enjolras' breast, after having de-rumpled the various sashes of the rest of Les Amis de l'ABC. A look of resigned pride crossed over Joly's features before he walked away, standing in his position at the right of Prouvaire.

  


Marius waltzed in, love in his eyes. If you looked carefully at all corners of the room you would notice Grantaire rolling his eyes, hiding under snowy shadows cast on the left corner by the uncared for window. With his wrinkled shirt and khaki vest falling discretely off his shoulder, with his tousled too-long black curls, with his sneer and his crossed legs, with his green eyes and the angry scar on his jawline, he was a stark contrast to the steam-pressed group with their fearing smiles and fidgeting legs.

  


Eponine fussed with the cuffs of her shirt, standing in the corner opposite Grantaire and scowling angrily. It didn't matter her ideas, her strength, her unwavering attraction to the female sex. She was not to fight, and as much as she hated this, Eponine knew that it was best.

  


It was at this point that Grantaire remembered that he was wearing Enjolras' old sash. Grantaire looked at the man himself and it was then Grantaire realized it was his own ribbon keeping Enjolras' pale curls secure at the nape of his neck.

  


Finally lining up with the rest, at the left of Courfeyrac, Grantaire traded his scowl for a small smile.

  



	2. Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As it turns out, Grantaire isn't the only one who sleeps without clothes on.

Grantaire stretched, kicking threadbare greyed sheets off his bare legs and standing up, shaking the sleep out of his eyes and disgust out of his head. He looked back at where he had slept, the unappetizing lump of holed sheets and scrapped clothes that hadn't kept him  _warm,_ but kept him from freezing through. He slithered into grimy pants and splashed leftover water in his face. Feeling somewhat cleaner and somewhat more awake, he staggered out of the Musain.

He hadn't meant to start sleeping here. But Madame Houcheloup particularly favored him, for whatever reason, and insisted. 

It was better than the streets, Grantaire supposed. Matelote gruffly handed him half a loaf of bread. "A gift from Madame Houcheloup. Make it last the week and I'll be back with more."

Grantaire grinned and took a bite. "Give her my thanks, Matelote." He gave the girl his best smile and she blushed, scurrying off to fulfill her own duties.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and found a rosette that wasn't his own.

 

Hmm.

He patted around his hips, and sure enough, there was a tear on his right hip

These were Enjolras' slacks.

 

Funny, Grantaire couldn't remember Les Amis de l'ABC's leader staying the night.

* * *

 

"Matelote- where the hell are my pants?"

"Covering Grantaire's ass. I didn't ask."

She and Gibelote burst into laughter.

"Get him in here!"

Having heard the conversation and making this discovery himself, Grantaire appeared. He let out a long bark of laughter.

 

Enjolras reddened. "Give me my fucking pants, right now."

Grantaire raised his hands in defeat, picking up his own darker slacks.

"Well, are you going to watch me strip, Apollo?" Enjolras' blush deepened to an impossible shade of red and turned away.


	3. Summer

Gueulemer strode into the Musain confidently and far too drunk for five in the afternoon.

It was a Thursday, the day Les Amis de l'ABC met.

Drawling over politics with half-lidded eyes, Grantaire perked up at the sight of Gueulemer. He ignored Feuilly's silent chastising glare as he watched determinedly in the aforementioned thief's direction.

_Gueulemer raised his voice at Matelote, clenching a fist with little coordination. He wavered on his feet as she rushed to fulfill his order. Staggering, he took his drink in one hand and sat lurking in the corner._

Grantaire shook his head, tuning an ear to the aforementioned political conversation. And then he was speaking up, speaking his mind. Grantaire tried to ignore the nagging voice that told him something was amiss. Grantaire found himself agreeing with little and zoning away when Gueulemer stood up and strode towards their table.

_Then everything happened in a blur._ _Gueulemer turned to Jehan._ _"_ _Flow'rs in yer hair, 'Jean? Never took you for_ 'one of them'." _He waved towards Enjolras and then to Grantaire._ _"Nasty, the lot of 'ye. Wearing your boyfriends boots, eh?" He gestured to Grantaire, presumably referring to the shift in the conversational leader._ _And then suddenly Grantaire was standing up, and his fist connected with Gueulemer's nose and broke it faster than one should be able to break a nose._

_No one was sure how it happened, but the two were tangled on the floor in seconds. Grantaire left with a dislocated shoulder and Gueulemer might not have left at all._

_If you ask Grantaire, he'll tell you honestly that he doesn't remember it. That he doesn't remember anything past the moment Gueulemer walked in._

_And perhaps he doesn't._

 

_Perhaps he's locked the memories away._

 

_But what he does remember is Enjolras patching him up at his own place. Popping his shoulder back where it need be, wiping a scratch on his face._

_He does remember that they didn't talk about it. No one asked about his shoulder, no one wondered where he slept that night._

_Because it was fine._


	4. Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought process: Maybe if I write this at 11pm the night before my deadline, it will work out right

Grantaire slipped out of the Musain, taking in the cool night air. It wasn't cold yet, but it would be getting there soon.

No one would notice that he had left. These days, Grantaire had been keeping so quiet anyways, he didn't bother expecting people to notice. To notice that he had left, to notice the leaves in his hair, to notice the tear on the hip of his pants. To notice that they weren't his trousers anyways, to notice that he had worn them through several new holes. 

To notice that money wasn't coming in.

To notice that he was getting thinner.

Courfeyrac cornered him about it once, but he had shrugged and snuck away inconspicuously, another thing Grantaire did that no one noticed.

  
Except Enjolras. Enjolras noticed.

When Enjolras came outside, Grantaire didn't ask why he left his speech. 

 

Grantaire gave up the fight when Enjolras forced Grantaire to go to Enjolras' house. To stay there.

 

Grantaire didn't have it in him to leave or refuse when he was fed, clothed, and praised. 

 

Enjolras didn't have the heart to scold Grantaire for drinking, but precautionary measures were put in place to prevent drinking wherever possible.

 

In the figurative sense, Grantaire was being raised again.

And sometimes it wasn't okay. Sometimes he felt selfish for not refusing to be spoilt.

But feeling selfish, feeling unworthy, feeling angry at nothing in particular, this was all Grantaire had the strength left to do.  


	5. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because flowers die, enough never is, and curiosity killed the cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry I'm a day late ! I know this ends super sad, but hold out. this Is a three part series after all.

Grantaire found himself hovering through alleyways he knew too well, the thin blankets wrapped around him offering no warmth.

As soon as he was mentally awake enough to push away, he did.

Grantaire did a terrible thing, pinning the best months of his life on Enjolras like he had been taken advantage of. Grantaire wrenched himself out of a happy stupor and left because he wasn't worth it.

In his own backwards way, it was how Grantaire told Enjolras that he loved him.

The life Grantaire had chosen was harsh, and cold, and mean.

Enjolras didn't need that.

Enjolras was a ray of light. He deserved soft shapes, curves, fullness, and beauty. Grantaire was none of that.

Grantaire was ugly, broken, calloused, and harsh. Enjolras didn't need that.

Enjolras deserved a cottage, small children, and a dog.

Grantaire forced himself back into the life he knew because he was scared of the life he didn't know.

* * *

 

 

When they touched it was fire, passion, strength. When they touched, Grantaire could finally worship Enjolras. Enjolras deserved more, but it was the most Grantaire could give.

 

Grantaire decided to leave because he was scared of being left.

 

Because flowers die, enough never is, and curiosity killed the cat.


End file.
